


A New Comfort, Level Three: My Tie

by Spadesjade



Series: Tom and Michelle [4]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Child Death, F/M, Marvel Comics - Freeform, Relationship(s), Tie Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spadesjade/pseuds/Spadesjade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom injures his hand and can't tie his tie. He and Michelle are due for a very special party, and some decisions about the future end up being made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Comfort, Level Three: My Tie

**Author's Note:**

> Some caution advised -- Michelle works in a hospital, and in a hospital, people die --people of all ages. Michelle has to deal with that, but you don't, so if you're sensitive you might want to skip this.

"Michelle, did you know that Mrs. Parker died?"

I paused from writing up the reports I was finishing before it was time to leave. "That woman who took a swing at me?" I asked.

Cynthia nodded. "They just called it. Surprising, how people that close to the end can still muster some spunk, isn't it?"

I twirled the pen absently. "Did...did anybody come see her? Before?"

Cynthia hesitated, and then shook her head. She patted me on the arm. 

Shaking myself, I finished the reports and then headed for my locker. I'd encountered a lot of elderly people at the hospital and had seen all types, but the utterly hostile ones were always the biggest surprise for me. Yet, seeing that absolutely nobody was with her, I couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for her. 

Yet, now she had passed...

My phone went off in my hand as I pulled it from my locker. I thought it was Tom, as it popped up as his number. The picture was one we'd taken on Valentines, both of us holding out our phones, posing for selfies, me looking at his phone, him looking at mine. We were laughing like loons. 

I was glad I didn't answer with anything else other than, "Hello."

"It's Chris. Hemsworth," came the Australian accent. "I'm sorry to alarm you, Tom's okay--"

Oh, that was never good. If someone had to tell you that they were okay, that meant something had happened. So I asked the inevitable.

"What happened?"

"There was a bit of an accident on set today. Tom landed on his arm and wrenched his fingers. It's not serious, but he's going to be off for the next day so he can rest it."

"Was it a stunt?"

Chris made a sound. "Not...exactly?"

"Were you two being stupid?" I'd heard the stories about Iceland.

"Not...exactly," Chris said again, although I could hear the amusement. "Are you at work?"

"I'm leaving now, tomorrow is the beginning of my off shift. I thought you guys were getting to the end of stuff?"

"We are, that's why they put some of this stuff toward the end, so filming isn't pushed back too far in case people get hurt. But it wasn't quite like that, I promise...do you want to talk to him? I think he's lucid enough."

"Lucid? What kind of meds are they giving him?"

Instead of talking to Tom on the phone, I went straight to his place. Chris let me in, leading me straightaway to the bedroom, where Tom was sprawled. As soon as I went to him, I saw how they had braced his fingers, wrapping his index, middle and ring fingers tightly together to give support. The whole arm was cushioned by a few pillows to keep it from flopping off the bed.

"His fingers took the worst of it, but the doc says his arm will be sore for a few days."

"I can talk," Tom murmured, the other arm over his eyes. He lowered it, saw me, still in my scrubs, and broke out into a smile. "Did you hire me a private nurse?"

"Ha ha," I quipped, and grabbed pillows to shove behind him as he tried to sit up. "What were you doing?"

"Just playing with the props," Tom said, petulant. 

"I thought it was a stunt," I shot at Chris.

"I said it wasn't...exactly. We were blocking and demonstrating how it was going to go and we got into it a bit much and...well, stuff happens," the Aussie grumbled. He looked like he felt bad. Considering he'd punched Tom in the face more than once, I assumed he'd had a hand in this mess.

"What *stuff*, exactly? How'd his fingers get...like that?"

"Something fell on me," Tom muttered.

"What?"

"Me," Chris admitted. 

I sighed. "Great. Well, I guess that rules out going to that party Saturday--"

"No!" Tom objected, then winced at the force of his own word. "I'll be fine...it's just my hand." He lifted it up, waved it at me. "You can kiss it better?"

I grasped his hand, gently, basically catching it from where he was flailing it. "Tom, be careful," I admonished.

"Please?" Freaking puppy eyes were going to be the death of me. But he did have lovely, lovely fingers. So I softly laid a peck across his knuckles, and this seemed to appease him. He let the hand lie back down. 

I pulled up a chair to the side of the bed. "How many painkillers did they give him?"

"He is a bit loopy," Chris said, concerned. "I don't know if he should be alone for the night--"

I bristled. It wasn't that I objected to taking care of Tom, it was the fact that I wasn't quite sure how much control Tom had of himself. Considering this was a version of drunk, I felt a bit unsure. "I'm not sure I should take that job," I said. "I'm not the one who fell on him, you know."

Chris sighed. "Okay, point taken. You've had a long day, Tom says you work twelve hour shifts?"

I nodded, and then on cue, yawned. 

"All right, I'll stay. Can you at least hang out for a few hours? I need to go home for a bit, Elsa and the kids--"

"Yes, but please, be back before eleven." I could not believe I was bossing Chris Hemsworth around like this, but the man took it well, considering he bore the brunt of guilt in this mess. Of course, knowing Tom, he'd probably provoked him into it. 

"All right, before eleven, I promise." Chris bent down, kissed my cheek. I blushed. I hadn't expected that.

"Hey," Tom grumbled. "Keep your lips off my woman, Thor."

I had to giggle. "Shut up, Tom."

"Yes, shut up, Tom," Chris mimicked me, then winked and left. 

Tom raised his head from the pillow. "That blond behemoth--"

I reached up, ran my fingers through Tom's curls. This instantly seemed to soothe him, and his head went back down on the pillow. "Shhhh, sweetie. You need to relax. I think they overdosed you. You'll sleep it off and then we'll give you half a pill when you're sober."

Tom sighed. "That feels good."

I leaned in closer. One hand continued to stroke his hair, and the other ran gently down his arm. "Does it hurt?"

"Sore," he grunted. "That...feels good, too. Keep doing that."

I smirked. My poor baby. My fingers went from his hair to rub the backs of them against his cheek, and he turned to peck my hand before leaning into my touch. 

"You really are just a puppy, aren't you," I whispered.

Tom gave a little mimic of a bark, and then an equally little giggle. "Talk to me. Tell me about your day."

My brain instantly went to Mrs. Parker. But I didn't want to think about the sadder aspects of that story. "Patient took a swing at me today when I was trying to take her blood."

Tom opened his eyes, lifted his head from the pillow. "Really?" he asked, aghast.

"Little old lady. You think Chris has guns? She had these shriveled up things and I think they were all muscle. Almost took my ear off."

"You okay?" He couldn't keep his head up and fell back on the pillow again. "Need some TLC?"

I scratched my fingernails lightly against his scalp. He practically purred. "That's for you right now, puppy. Don't worry, she didn't connect. Had to get an orderly to help me, though. I think he thought I was nuts until he saw how fast she could move."

"Okay. As long as you're alright." He closed his eyes, and I could tell by his breathing that he was drifting off. "Anything else?"

"Just a bunch of blood cultures, nothing exciting," I said softly, but he didn't press any more. Within a few minutes, he was asleep.

\----------------------

I came back first thing the next morning with fresh coffee for both of them. Tom was surprisingly alert, and only took half a pill of the painkiller. I was worried he'd be something akin to hung over. 

"How do you feel?" I asked. 

"Sore, but it's not as bad as it looks," Tom assured me as he sipped his coffee. "Mmm...you remembered how I take it."

"I can remember seventeen different ways to mix blood cultures, I can remember how you take your coffee," I teased. "Hungry?"

"Starving, actually," Tom said. He shifted a bit on the bed --it was either keep the arm extended and flat, or wear a sling, and he didn't much like the second option. "We can order out--"

"You've got eggs and bread and milk," I pointed out. "I can make you breakfast."

Tom wrinkled his nose. "I'm not sure about that milk," he said.

I took a little sip. "Still good. Maybe not tomorrow, so we'd better use it up."

He didn't have syrup so we wound up using a combination of butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon. I found cream cheese and some cheddar in the fridge and used it to beef up the eggs. It wasn't a full English breakfast, but it would do in a pinch. 

"Come on, puppy, you need to get up," I said, bringing over the sling.

Tom groaned. "Can't you bring it over here? Maybe...feed it to me?" He gave me those puppy eyes again, followed by a rather lascivious wink. 

"I can dump it on you," I offered. "See what gets in your mouth."

He gave his little giggle and allowed me to slip the brace under his arm. It was slow going, but we got the thing around his wide shoulders and I attached it in the back. 

"Does it hurt a lot?" I asked, running my fingers down his bicep.

"Not when you do that," he said. He shifted his fingers a bit and winced. "Maybe when I do that."

"Then don't do that," I joked, gently smoothing down his fingers. He leaned toward me, resting his head against my shoulder. 

"Why didn't you become a doctor?" he wondered. "You have an excellent beside manner."

"Only with someone I like," I said as we went over to the small table. I offered to cut his food for him, but Tom was adept at cutting the French toast with the edge of his fork. "I have a horrible beside manner otherwise. And on top of that, the amount of school, plus loans, and the whole thing requires a discipline I don't have."

"Do you wish you had?" he asked. "Become a doctor?"

I shook my head. "I like my job. I still get to do all kinds of cool stuff. I especially like grossing out my brother's life science class by talking about all the horrible stuff bacteria and viruses do. And I don't have to deal with too many people, at least not for more than a few minutes."

Tom nodded thoughtfully, and then proceeded to stuff his face.

Truth was, his injury had managed to jolt me out of a rather nasty funk. The last few days at work had been difficult. In addition to Mrs. Parker, not three days go, a little baby had died in the maternity ward, and the whole hospital was grieving over that one. It hurt me particularly, because I had had to run the cultures to find out exactly what had happened.

It was a natural course, in a hospital. People died. They couldn't live forever. But it was particularly painful when a brand new life didn't even get a chance to get off the ground. Mrs. Parker's death had hurt, as well -- because nobody had been there. She'd died alone. 

But I didn't bring up either incident. The fact that Tom was leaving loomed on the horizon, and I didn't want to mar our last few weeks together with sour news. It wasn't the first time things like that had happened, and we supported each other at the hospital, letting each other talk and vent. So I brushed it aside, making myself concentrate on more important things.

This was one of my Achilles heels. My mother had always told me that I let myself get too involved with other people's pain. When I was a child, she wouldn't let me watch movies where people died because I would cry. She would admonish me not to get myself worked up when bad things happened to friends -- from someone's pet to someone's grandparent passing away. I was very fortunate, she would point out, that things like that weren't actually happening to me, that my family was healthy, my friends were too, and I should be grateful.

Over time, it had become a mantra. I knew that, as a doctor, I would lack the absolute control. I sometimes wondered if I had it as a med-tech. But I pushed it down. I kept my distance. It wasn't that I had really wanted to be a doctor -- what I said was true, I lacked the particular discipline. But I did love my career. It took more than just doctors and nurses to keep people alive and healthy.

"So I am still going to the party," Tom warned me as he finished his breakfast. "We're still going."

"Mm hmm," I agreed over a mouthful of eggs. 

"You're not getting out of it," Tom stated.

I nodded. I hadn't planned to argue. "Even though someone is bound to take a picture of us and it's going to end up on Twitter."

"It didn't happen at my birthday party."

"Yes, but this will be the second time you're seen with me, Tom."

He sighed. Deeply. "Michelle, this is going to happen eventually."

I nodded. "I know."

"I don't want to hide."

"I know."

"I'm not ashamed of you."

"I should hope not." I scooped up the last of my eggs and French toast together. 

"You're not ashamed of me?"

"Definitely not." I offered a warm smile.

"Other celebrities have private relationships. There's no reason to think we can't, too."

"I'm with you, Tom. Who are you trying to convince?"

He sighed again. "I just know how you worry."

"I'm going to worry regardless. No matter what you say. If it happens tomorrow or a month or a year from now. Being with you has taught me that I have to take a few risks. This is just one of the risks not everybody has to worry about. Heartbreak, fine -- being slandered on the internet by half a million hearbroken fangirls, not so much."

"I'm sorry," he said.

I shook my head. "Don't be. You're worth it."

His smile made my heartbeat accelerate with something other than anxiety. "And I don't think it's half a million," he murmured.

"You're right, it's probably more."

\--------------------------------

The party was being held for Marvel's various celebrities and everyone else involved with Phase 3, as Marvel called it. The Oscars were notorious for ignoring the blockbusters, so Marvel had its own party, renting out the Getty Villa in Malibu for the event. It was private, but that didn't mean the paparazzi weren't going to be hanging around the place. Security was tripled, to at least keep them from getting inside. However, the entrance was a very different matter.

I went separate from Tom. First I went to his apartment, where both cars were waiting. He had arranged the cars, and told me not to get too dressy. It was not a formal event, he warned, it was just a chance to celebrate. He was going to wear the same suit he wore on New Years, sans the waistcoat (much to my disappointment) and I was wearing a black designer skirt with three layers of soft ruffles, and a silken, button-down blouse. The finishing touch was the lace-pattern black panty-hose and the velvet low-heeled shoes. 

Tom's arm felt much better, although he still had the brace on his fingers, and everyone that evening was going to get one-armed hugs. Since it was his right hand, there was no way he could do autographs, and there were bound to be fans at the entrance, but he was more than willing to do selfies. 

"I can't get this on," Tom groaned as he slipped the silvery tie under the collar of his shirt. "Do you know how to tie a tie? Can you tie this for me?"

"Yeah," I said. "Here." I took the shimmering fabric between my fingers, and started to twist it into place. 

"Where did you learn?" he asked, watching me work.

"My dad is somewhat of an ex-hippie. I don't think he ever wore a tie in his life. So when my little brother had to start wearing ties for interviews, he didn't know what to do, so I learned so I could teach him." I smoothed down the textured fabric. "There. Okay?"

"Excellent," Tom said. "I should hurt my fingers more often."

I reached up and smoothed the hair at his temples, careful not to mess with the carefully gelled curls. "Not necessary. Just wear this tie all the time."

He chuckled. "You are a sentimental one, aren't you? As well as drop dead gorgeous."

I blushed. "It's the tights."

"Mmm...and the skirt." The fingers of his good hand toyed with the collar of my shirt. "You look like you could wear a tie yourself. It would definitely give you that schoolgirl look."

I rolled my eyes. "Remember, my brother works in a school," I cautioned him. "Don't say stuff like that in front of him."

"I won't...when you decide to let me meet him."

"I will. Soon, I promise."

Tom went first. I waited a good half hour before following, knowing he'd get waylaid and not wanting to wander around the party alone for more than a minute necessary. Thankfully, Elsa was there, waiting for Chris, and she introduced me to a few people while both Tom and Chris finished up out front.

It was amazing. It took me a lot of fist clenching and tongue biting not to absolutely freak out at meeting Robert Downey Jr., who was as utterly adorable as I'd always imagined. He instantly embraced me and, as he seemed utterly besotted with Tom, treated me as if I were part of the Marvel family. When I met Clark Gregg I went on for a full five minutes about how fantastic he was in Joss Whedon's version of Much Ado, and I swear the man blushed like a schoolgirl. But my favorite person was Hayley Atwell.

She was such a beautiful woman, but more than that, I had followed her on Twitter during her run as Agent Carter, and the utter realness of her was something I admired tremendously. She was funny, charming, and she and Tom were old friends. I would have been jealous of how they complimented each other in the looks department, if I hadn't "shipped" them myself. When I mentioned this to Tom in a private moment, he gave me a very strange look. 

"Me and Hayley?" he said.

I shrugged. "You could hardly do better."

Tom scowled at me. "I have done better, thank you very much," he said, pulling me closer with his good arm. 

"Don't let her hear you say that," I chastened. His answer was to lean down and start kissing my cheek. 

"I don't know what's irritating me more," he said, between kisses, "the fact that you think I should be with someone else or the fact that you aren't jealous of the thought."

"If I had to lose you to someone, it would be her," I said. "And I think those are the same thing, Tom."

"I know I'm not supposed to drink," he said, letting go of me long enough to grasp the club soda the bartender was offering him, "but I think the ban needs to extend to you as well. How many glasses of champagne have you had?"

"That reminds me, you're due for your next half a pill in about a half hour," I said, reaching into my clutch to check my phone. 

"Yes, Nurse Michelle," he quipped. "Or would you prefer Doctor Michelle?"

I shook my head. "You need to sit for a bit. You've been overexerting."

This was one of the things with Tom. He was like a dervish. He would wind up and go and go and go and not realize his limits at times. I got him to sit quietly with me at our table for a bit, and that was really nice. He draped his right arm across my lap, where I gently massaged his bicep through his shirt with one hand (he had removed his suit jacket), and smoothed my fingers over his injured ones with the other while they rested on my knee, both actions which he insisted on. He claimed my touch was therapeutic. Instead of rolling my eyes, I just gave him a sweet smile and did as he asked. 

When the half-pill kicked in, he was recharged and ready to socialize. Hayley, who had just finished the rounds herself, was exhausted and insisted I sit with her so Tom could go off "unimpeded," to which Tom tried to object but I overruled him. 

"As long as you don't wind up going home with her yourself," he whispered before scooting off.

For a while it was just the two of us, and it was very nice. Others came in and went, and conversations ebbed and flowed, but as is the way with introverts, all the stimulation brought on exhaustion. Tom checked in periodically, and that half-pill, by my estimation, should last him through the rest of the night. On one of the check-ins, he brought up my "funny story" of the woman who tried to slug me for taking her blood, and everyone present was interested in me telling it. They had all been unfailingly interested in my job, asking good questions -- it was nice to see how these people showed as much appreciation for other jobs that so many outsiders seemed to show toward theirs. But only Hayley asked me afterwards, in a quiet moment aside, how the woman had faired.

"She was very old, in her nineties," I said. "She passed away the same day." 

"I'm so sorry," Hayley said with a squeeze of my hand. I could only smile at her and murmur a thanks.

Soon, things started to quiet down. Our table slowly emptied. Hayley and Clark were having a discussion about the connections between their series, something I would have thought was too work related for a night like this, but they seemed to be into it. I drifted out. 

And suddenly I felt unbearably lonely.

I knew this world didn't belong to me. This was Tom's world, I was just a visitor. As I glanced over to see him talking, his whole body practically vibrating with his enduring excitement for whatever he was saying, I felt very distant from him. 

I didn't know why I was depressed all of a sudden. Maybe it was the thought that at my job, life and death were everyday things. Maybe it was the sudden shallowness of being surrounded by all this glamor, but being unsure of the substance -- people who saved lives got far less recognition than these people, talented though they may have been. Maybe it was the lingering grief of that poor mother and father, whose child was never going to get to experience any of the excitement and joy this world had to offer, and how all of this would look so meaningless and pointless in their eyes. Maybe it was the thought of that bitter old woman dying alone, and worrying that maybe, just maybe, that might be me one day--

I had to excuse myself. 

Crashes like this were not new to me. They were brought on by stress and exhaustion, and I knew I was over exaggerating it in my brain, letting a lot of little things (or not so little, really) snowball into a mass that felt smothering.

I retreated outside. The Villa had many lovely overlooks into their various gardens. I tried to gather myself, talk myself down logically. I prayed for a few minutes, reciting some Our Fathers and Hail Marys, and tried to quiet myself, but that rock in the pit of my stomach wouldn't abate. I felt my throat start to close, and leaned hard on the marble balustrade, not wanting to lose it in such a place.

Then I felt warm, long arm wrap around me and pull me in tight. Tom's chin with its familiar scruff rested on my shoulder, and he held me very close for a few minutes. It was exactly what I needed. I relaxed into him, letting go and leaning back, allowing myself to soak in what he offered. I grasped his hands, careful not to squeeze his bad one, pressing them into me.

"My poor little Michelle," he whispered soothingly into my ear, very close so that I felt his chest rumble and the air in my ear vibrate with his proximity. "Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm tired," I said, my throat still tight.

Tom was quiet for a minute, just breathing against my ear. "Hayley told me that elderly woman passed away. Said you looked rather upset. Why didn't you tell me?"

I shrugged, as much as I could in his arms. "I didn't want to drop the mood. You were being so cute, and I just wanted to let it go."

"But it came back," he crooned. 

"You were having a lot of fun. I don't want to drag you down."

"You *never* drag me down," he whispered rather intensely, his arms tightening. He kissed my temple, my cheek, dragging his lips along my skin in between kisses. I closed my eyes, leaning into the kisses. His good hand came up, idly stroked my throat. 

"I'm really tired," I said.

"I know. You worked seven days on twelve hour shifts. I shouldn't have dragged you to this--"

"No!" I objected, turning a bit. He didn't quite let go, but loosened enough so I could shift. "No, I've had a fantastic time. I just...I go into my own head too much sometimes. Too much stimulation for me. You seem to feed off of it, but it wears me out. I don't know how anyone can put so much of himself out there. You're like a human battery."

He chuckled. "I do get low, too, you know. I guess it's just where you put your energy that makes the difference. You deal with people who might not be there the next day. I don't know how you can do that and still charm so many people at my shallow little shindig here..."

"It's not shallow," I said. "But sometimes, my job is just...hard. Especially when babies die--"

He gave a little start. "Did a baby die?"

I nodded. "About three days ago. Things just pile on, you know--"

He frowned. "Why didn't you tell me that, either?"

"I..." I don't know why I didn't. I could only shrug. "Sometimes it's because I don't want to talk about it."

"Ignoring problems until they go away doesn't work, Michelle," Tom said, the hand along my neck still gently stroking up and down. "You can tell me anything, I don't care what it is. I won't ever tell you you're being silly or overreacting."

I stared up at him for a long moment. "You think you could get away for dinner in a few days? We could meet up with my brother and his wife."

He smiled at me. "I'll make a point of it." He kissed my temple again. "There is one more thing," he added.

"Hmm?"

"You didn't mean what you said before. About Hayley."

I struggled to think. "About...about you and Hayley?"

He nodded.

I considered him. It hadn't occurred to me that he would be offended by my joke. Although sometimes my jokes could be delivered so deadpan, it sounded like I was serious.

"No, Tom. I was joking." I raised my arms, settled by wrists on his shoulders, let my fingers lace together behind his neck. "If I didn't like her so much, and know that there was absolutely nothing between you and her, I would be insanely jealous at even the thought of you dumping me for her. Although you could hardly blame me for thinking it, she is so beautiful and charming and--"

He cut me off with a kiss. "Hayley and I are old friends," he said, "and she is both of those things. But she doesn't light me up like you. It's not her smile I picture when I'm daydreaming, or her laugh I hear, or her thoughts I want to know. All of those things are yours. And it's not her arms I imagine around me when I have one of my low moments, or her voice I want to hear. It's you, darling. My Michelle."

At first I wanted to chuckle, but I couldn't. He meant it. He meant every word. So instead of speaking, I lift myself up and kiss him. A hard kiss that could have been too hard, but I wanted to take that knot of feeling he'd created in me and show it to him, somehow, and words just didn't work.

I settled back on my feet and Tom's eyes were still closed. He drew a deep breath and sighed.

"Yes," he said, finally looking at me. "Like that."

My fingers fiddled with that silvery tie. He reached up for it, with his good arm, and further loosened the knot from around his neck, but didn't undo it entirely.

To my surprise, he lifted the thing off his neck, and slipped it around mine, then pulled the noose tighter again. He began fiddling with the collar of my blouse to tuck the strap underneath, and I started to giggle.

"You ridiculous man, what are you doing?"

"It looks as cute as I thought it would," he said, settling it into place. 

I looked down at it -- it smelled like him. I felt a strange sense of exhilaration, wearing it. 

"Now when we leave here, there won't be any question," he said.

My eyebrows shot up. "You're not serious."

"I'm not going to hide, Michelle. I want you to wear my tie, and I want to walk out with you and drive back into town together like a normal couple. Anybody asks, they just say my private life is private. Mind your own business."

I ran my fingers over the tie. "Kind of flaunting it, aren't you? And what happens to me, when you leave? What if they find out who I am? It's not like I'm hiding, I'm just a person like anybody else, Facebook, Pintrest, anybody could find me."

Tom considered me, his head cocked to one side. "If you aren't ready, darling, I understand. But we did say this was serious. I once told a reporter that when the time came, and there was something to write home about considering my romantic life, I hoped I would be able to do so. I know you struggle against fear, so do I. And...and I'm afraid that...that you're going to wake up one morning and realize that this is too much for you, that being with me is too much for you to handle." His brow furrowed, and his entire face scrunched, and I could see the pain this thought brought him. He looked down at his hand, which was holding the tip of the tie. "So I want to make sure that I can keep the promises I make to you, that when I say I can keep us private, that I can keep them away and keep any of them from being a factor in us, from coming between us...and this is the only way to do it. So now, or later, or when you're ready...but I don't think 'ready' is ever going to come. I thought about just releasing a press statement, saying I'm in a relationship, and I don't want to talk about it, but I thought that would be shots fired. So I thought this, just going about our lives like normal people, and seeing what comes, would be a way to go. But maybe that's wrong, maybe that's just antagonizing them, too. If you think this is a bad idea, I'll take it--"

"No," I swatted his hand away as he reached for it. "No, you put it on me, it's mine." I drew a breath. Maybe this was a bad idea. But he had a point. There was never going to be a "right" time. There was never going to be a "right" way.

"All right," I said. "It's late, there might not be that many paparazzi left anyway."

Tom smiled. I swear to God I saw his eyes glistening. "Want to say goodnight? Go somewhere we can just relax?"

I nodded. "Want me to rub your arm some more?"

He nuzzled his nose against my cheek, and then straightened. The fingers of both hands went to my temples, and slowly started to make circles. "I think you're the one who needs some TLC right now."

"Your fingers--" I started, but it felt soooo good, I hadn't realized how my head had started to hurt and where the tension had started to build up until he began to release it.

"I'm fine," he assured me. "Come on. Let's go say goodnight."


End file.
